


Interrobang Originals

by Interrobang



Series: Tumblr Prompts [4]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Choose Your Own Adventure, Dragons, Eldritch, F/F, F/M, Fauns & Satyrs, Gen, Knotting, Lactation, M/M, Minotaurs, Monsters, Oral Sex, Other, Reader-Insert, Tentacles, The Void, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-12
Updated: 2018-06-26
Packaged: 2019-03-30 02:54:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 14,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13941045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Interrobang/pseuds/Interrobang
Summary: A big dang collection of ficlets copied over from my tumblr for easier reading. Have fun! Tags will be updated as each ficlet is added.





	1. Werewolf GF gets eaten out

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: weregirlfriend gets eaten out, ft. my OC Rebekah.

The moon is slim and low as you and Rebekah walk home. For once there’s no mounting pressure from her family or your job for the two of you to be home early, and you’ve taken the evening for yourselves: dinner, a walk through the park, and now a night in. Just the two of you alone. It’s romantic enough to set your heart beating fast.

She’s pretty like this– pretty every way, actually. You like your girlfriend when she’s huge and hairy and towering over you, and you like her when she looks like no more than a round and slightly chubby college student. You like her when her manicured nails get ruined by her transformation, and you like her the morning after, when she curls sweetly into your side begging for kisses.

She’s prettiest like this, though: auburn curls bouncing as she hums some tuneless thing into the night, swinging your hands between you as you walk home in the summer humidity. There’s a hint of claw to her long fingers tangled with yours, and it excites you. You like her happy; you like her giddy, excited, pleased enough to pounce on you. If you snuck an indecent look now you might even see a tail wagging under her skirts.

The two of you arrive home: it’s a tiny little place, barely more than a cottage, but it has a yard to run in and woods beyond it, and the rooms are more than adequate for what you need. The bed takes up most of your room, but…well, it’s hard to think of how much leg room you have when you’re occupied with other things.

Speaking of leg room…you watch Rebekah’s hips sway in her date clothes; she got all dressed up just for you. Isn’t that cute? Though even as you watch you can see that her shoes are mighty uncomfortable, and maybe the skirt is a little chilly in the evening air.

You coax her back into your room, make a play of undressing her. There’s lots of laughter as you brush your knuckles against her ticklish places, but her giggles have nothing on the tickle of her fur on your nose on full moons. You get your revenge where you can. You chase her with fiendish fingers all the way onto the bed, laughing raucously as she gets tangled in her half-shed clothing. By the time you two catch your breath you have one arm in your shirt and her socks adorning your head, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

You two may be goofy, but damn if you aren’t attracted to everything about this wolf woman. She’s not petite by any means, and you lean into her bulk now, fingers digging into soft sides and encircling her broad shoulders as you embrace. You kiss slowly, a simple press of lips and a sigh to end the night.

There’s a brief moment where  the two of you bask, relaxed, in your haphazard pile of laundry– then Rebekah slides a thigh between your legs and grasps you more tightly. Your breath hitches. Hers is nearly silent, but in the smallest space between your faces it seems cacophonous.

You slip your hands up her sides– no longer tickling but now petting, searching. She sighs under you, and in your tiny bed pulls you closer. There’s no forgetting the mess around the two of you; you snatch her underthings off your head and  groan your embarrassment, ducking your head into the crook of her neck.

You slowly run your hands up and down her sides, feeling each bump of her ribs under your palms and savoring the rise and fall of her chest as she sighs underneath you. Rebekah has never been shy. She whines a little and tightens her legs around your waist, pulling you closer and breathing deeply. No doubt she’s scenting the air for any whiff of you she can get; she has a tendency to get caught up situational scents when things get intense.

Thinking quickly, you tug her closer, tuck her face into the crook of your shoulder, where you are no doubt sweatiest and most pungent. Her grip tightens immediately, nails digging into your back and breath huffing against your skin.

It doesn’t take much coaxing to get her to lie back in your bed, propped up on pillows and glorious in the wan moonlight coming through your windowblinds. Her hair spills dark and curly over the pillows, thick as her fur always is when she changes. You catch her eyes glowing in the dark and she blinks away, embarrassed, before her gaze returns tenfold, intense and bright. Is that a hint of fuzz you see on her jaw? Her cheekbones look sharper than before, but it’s a sight you welcome. You like when she goes a little wild. When she lets go, Rebekah is the most graceful beast you’ve ever encountered.

You kiss her slowly, mindful of her many shifting teeth and kinder all the while for it. You pepper her jawline and throat with kisses, biting at the spots that make her gasp and whining when, in return, she pulls on your hair and rumbles deep in her chest.

That’s the noise you’ve been waiting for. That’s the noise that means she’s done playing and has other plans in mind. When Rebekah rumbles so hard her ribs vibrate under your palm, you know you’ve done something right– and have a night ahead of you.

You bite your way down her chest, pressing kisses to each nip and loving that you can feel her fur grow and recede as her heart races. It’s all a part of one being, though it doesn’t always seem like it. The shift between wolf and human is very fluid and often hard to control. You happen to have a certain preference for making Rebekah lose her control in unconventional ways.

By the time you’ve worked your way down the furred line of Rebekah’s stomach, nipped at her thighs and pushed your hands at her knees, she’s larger and hairier than when you’d started. Her auburn fur curls in sweat-damp licks in the dim light of your bedroom. Her feet, sometimes delicate, are now long and clawed on the ends, the joints awkward as she rumbles and throws a leg over your shoulder.

Her legs part, and it takes all your willpower not to just dive right in. You send a silent prayer up to whoever sent Rebekah your way: you will not squander this treat.

Her body is flushed and pink under your attention. Patches of red blush clear through the fuzz that thickens on her belly, growing heavier with every passing breath. You’re used to it by now– usually by the time she comes Rebekah has dug her claws into the headboard or shredded the nearest pillow. You nuzzle into her thighs, rasping your cheek along her fur and muscle and inhaling deeply. You love it here between her legs, warm and dark and perfectly safe.

The folds of her sex lay before you like a meal, glistening and flushed. As you watch– not hesitating, just taking it all in– Rebekah whines and spreads her legs a little further, holds herself open for you. It takes you approximately five seconds your lean in and nuzzle her mound, letting her grind against your chin and pant into the open air. You kiss her stomach and sink down, licking first her lips and then working your way around until you can circle the hood of her clit with your tongue. You grab her hips and hold her legs open– she’s instinctively hunched and tightened her legs around your head– and the resulting whine makes your knees wobble.

She’s thick and sour under your tongue, and it makes your mouth water, hungry for more. You whine when she jerks away from you, chase her with your mouth. You suck and slurp at her clit, pulling the little mound into your mouth until the mattress squeaks with the effort of Rebekah’s hips lifting off the bed. She doesn’t exactly claw at you, but her nails lengthen and scrabble against your skin, digging red welts into the surface that you know you won’t regret later. Her legs are lengthening behind your back, hairier and hairier around your head.

Even her pubes get thicker, curlier, tighter and heavy. The hair rasps against your cheeks as you press on and in, rubbing first your palm and then your fingers against her hole and dipping in sweetly to feel her wet embrace. Rebekah shudders– growls– spreads her legs and humps against your mouth as you push two fingers in side-by-side and split her open. Her pussy sucks you in so tenderly that you want to sigh sweet nothings to it, but insteads you nip at her lips and lick between your own fingers, reaching as far as you can with your tongue and soaking your chin in the process. Your wolf’s fingers find your hair, tighten against your scalp as she whines and wiggles against you. She’s tense– even you can feel that– but it’s the kind of tension you love to  break. All it’ll take is…a little work.

You thrust your fingers randomly, panting against her slick flesh. Your forearm burns, but you push on, curling your fingers and rubbing quickly, harder when she whines and moans brokenly. She gushes around your fingers, supple and slick and easy. So sweet for you, so open, so malleable under your mouth. You suck her in and suppress a laugh at the shudder and claws it gets you, instead moaning your approval against her cunt as she nearly tears your skin open. Rebekah has gone full were by now, huge and hairy and full of undisguised power, and she trembles under your hands. You slip more fingers in alongside the other two and pull her clit between your lips, teeth nearly but not quite grazing her, and are rewarded with a whisper of a howl and a heel dug between your shoulder blades.

She opens up under you– her pussy pulls you in, finger after finger, until your wrist aches and your skin wrinkles. You don’t doubt that with a little training she could take your whole hand, but tonight is not the night for that. Instead you twist and curl and press and press and press until her back arches and she shouts. It’s a sharp little bark, edged with a growl and full of so much satisfaction that it pains you to stop moving. Her body clenches around you, squeezing in waves so tight and full it makes your head spin.

You slowly– so slowly, so gently– pull your fingers out and lick them clean, dipping your head down to tidy up after yourself. You are stopped only by Rebekah shoving your head away with a a laugh. Exhaustion tinges her giggles, but when you look up her eyes are moon-bright and her teeth sharp, her cheeks flushed with delight.

She draws you up for a single, lingering kiss. As you are distracted, her claws dip down your back and grasp your hip– then flip you until all her monstrous weight is atop you, exactly where you want it.

It’s time for her revenge.


	2. Jewish werewolf stuff

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jewish werewolf headcanons are good and important!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Listen. I'm Jewish. I'm queer af. I love werewolves. Obv this is going to mix somehow.
> 
> This is all copy/pasted from my tumblr.

  1. Hannukah tradition means eating foods cooked in oil
  2. especially things like…… _jelly donuts_
  3. img: kid werewolves with powdered sugar in their fur. adult werewolves with jelly on their snouts, licking filling from their claws. 



 

human s/o fussing over their werewolf gf with napkins and wet wipes like （=´∇｀=）i love u so much 

gf just growls and blushes like “pls don’t take pics of us like this. we’ll never live it down if someone posts to to the local inter-pack facebook group. The Cohen pack already one-upped us with their holiday family photo where all 8 of them were the candles on a menorah howling at a shamash candle moon and quite frankly I would prefer not to be seen like this”

u just smooch her and grab the last donut in the box. no promises

* * *

 

Anonymous asked: werewolf bat mitzvah

 

[allofthefeelings](http://allofthefeelings.tumblr.com/post/167274929835/werewolf-bat-mitzvah):

> [harpergetsfannish](http://harpergetsfannish.tumblr.com/post/166723848658/werewolf-bat-mitzvah):
>
>> [hhgggx](http://hhgggx.tumblr.com/post/166723088547/werewolf-bat-mitzvah):
>>
>>> [hhgggx](http://hhgggx.tumblr.com/post/166695392952/werewolf-bat-mitzvah):
>>>
>>>> SPOOKY SCARY GIRLS BECOMING WOMEN WOMEN BECOMING WOLVES listen more tomorrow because as a Jew and werewolf enthusiast I have feelings about this
>>>> 
>>>>   
> 
>>> 
>>> ok!!!!!! so for those of you who don’t know, the difference between a Bar Mitzvah and a Bat Mitzvah is that Bar Mitzvahs are for boys and Bat Mitzvahs are for girls (hence not quoting the song directly).
>>> 
>>> So what we’ve got here is a 12-year-old werewolf girl waking up on a Saturday morning after years of studying the Torah, learning to read Hebrew and everything, and tacking her prayer shawl and yarmulke on before her mom blesses her as a child one last time, and then she gets to the bimah (raised area kind of like a pulpit) and leads the congregation in Saturday morning services.
>>> 
>>> It’s a joyous occasion and a big deal in a Jewish woman’s life!!!!!! I had mine when I was 11/12 and I still have my shawl/yarmulke and the kiddish cup and candlesticks my family gifted to me so I can start me own household one day.
>>> 
>>> So like…..add werewolf pack dynamics to that!! Big boofs with shawls and suits on, earrings pinned, kugel baked, bagels bought, cake and balloons and a dj and everything. I feel like if you invited the extended packs it’s be a HUGE occasion, a real community event! 
>>> 
>>> Plus the symbolism of gifting money and the necessary items to hold Shabbat in your own home (candlesticks/kiddush cup etc) would be HUGE in werewolf culture!! You’re telling your kid that they are now, in the eyes of the community, an adult and responsible for their actions! They can be present at births and deaths, help lead the community, and be trusted to run their own affairs. Imagine what that means to a werewolf that will one day be expected to lead their own family/pack!
>> 
>> This is an amazing thought. Thank you for sharing it with us. I’m going to lose chunks of this evening to thinking about appropriate gifts and the way pack dynamics work into that. 
> 
> This is AMAZING.
> 
> But what I’m thinking about now is- are there different werewolf behaviors from different denominations?
> 
> I mean, obviously we observe rituals differently in the human world. But does a reform werewolf have different wolf behaviors than an orthodox werewolf? I mean, just for starters, I had my Bat Mitzvah at thirteen. That difference of a year must be huge in werewolf circles! It could shift the whole pack dynamic!
> 
>  
> 
> * * *
> 
>  
> 
> **[frostysaurusrekt](http://frostysaurusrekt.tumblr.com/) asked: I should specify, I heard Jewish werewolves and came running. It's so nice to see Jewish stuff being in the fantasy genre more these days.**
> 
> [frostysaurusrekt](http://frostysaurusrekt.tumblr.com/post/166726799031/i-should-specify-i-heard-jewish-werewolves-and):
>
>> [hhgggx](http://hhgggx.tumblr.com/post/166726662552/i-should-specify-i-heard-jewish-werewolves-and):
>>
>>> Frostyyyyyy!!!! I know dude!! I can’t tell you how much it means to me to see stuff from my heritage represented in fantasy/sci-fi. ;O; I’m gonna write more Jewish werewolves if it kills me.
>>> 
>>> Similarities between Jews and Werewolves:
>>> 
>>>   * Careful about where their meat is sourced from (human meat is forbidden, all food should be killed ethically)
>>>   * media made by werewolves inevitably has lots of subtle werewolf humor in it
>>>   * clear rights of passage based around puberty (first full transformation/bar/bat mitzvahs)
>>>   * large families
>>>   * close-knit community with lots of in-jokes
>>>   * LUNAR CALENDAR
>>>   * hunted throughout Europe at one time or another
>>> 

>>> 
>>> add more if you want!
>> 
>> Two languages, one (werewolf Yiddish equivalent) that your grandparents use mostly and that you’ve picked up expletives from, and the other (werewolf Hebrew equivalent) is far more common.
>> 
>> Welcoming of anyone into the pack/faith as long as it’s with good intentions (at least that’s how it works around here).
>> 
>> That one fucking song that I can’t remember the name of that they sing at Passover that makes you sob uncontrollably even though you have no idea what’s being sung.
> 
> Interfaith/interspecies marriages being a contentious issue, but the good eggs embrace love first.
> 
> That said, it’s not uncommon for a partner to take the change/convert later in life, or to raise children of a mixed marriage with their werewolf/Jewish heritage.
> 
> Ruth and Naomi as a staple story of devotion in both groups, often quoted at weddings. ‘Whither thou goest I will go; whither thou stayest I will stay.”
> 
> Meddling groups of old ladies that just want to introduce you to their granddaughter/grandson/niece/nephew so you can finally meet “A nice werewolf/a nice Jewish boy/girl” and settle down.
> 
> **_Absolutely batshit insane ancient lore. (THE ENTIRE OLD  TESTAMENT)_ **

 


	3. Werewolf GF: soft mornings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning blushes a hazy Dahlia pink over Rebekah’s rounded shape under the sheets. She looks soft all over, her fur sleep-mussed and curly. Her broad shoulders cause her to sprawl, but she’s tactile enough that most nights you can coax her to curl around you in her sleep.

The morning blushes a hazy Dahlia pink over Rebekah’s rounded shape under the sheets. She looks soft all over, her fur sleep-mussed and curly. Her broad shoulders cause her to sprawl, but she’s tactile enough that most nights you can coax her to curl around you in her sleep.

As you watch she snuffles into her pillow, her blunted claws digging into it as she seeks out your phantom warmth.

You peek through the blinds: the sun is coming up, breaking up the dawn fog and painting the yard lilac. Somewhere out there, the birds are beginning to sing.

You sink back into bed, still heavy with sleep, and drag one of Rebekah’s large arms over your waist. She’s better than any quilt at fighting the October chill, radiating heat the way only fur and inhuman blood can. She sighs, her breath hot against your chest, and pulls you closer.

You’re just drifting back off to sleep when you feel her shift against you. Figures that she’d wake up just as you were dozing off.

“Hey, sleepy lady,” you murmur. Your voice is barely a croak, thick with sleep. “Did I wake you?”

“Half. I was having a good dream, too.” She groans and burrows her face into your chest. “You should make it up to me.”

“Yeah?” You prompt, sleepily petting through her auburn fur. You comb out the tangles with your fingers while you float in a half-awake haze. Rebekah’s fur is soft where her arms curl around your back, the fine hair on her snout tickling gently as she nuzzles into your neck. You press forward into her weight and tangle your legs together.

You hum contentedly as one clawed finger draws lines up and down your bare back, carving designs that make you shiver against your wolf. Shifting one leg between hers, you slide your hand between the two of you to grasp at her chin. You kiss sleepily, a mess of fang and tongue quietly tangling. It’s delightfully slow, calm after a wild night, and you find that you’re nearly napping again when she presses her cold nose to your breastbone.

You yelp, blinking dazedly down at Rebekah’s face. She scooted down the bed a bit, face pillowed on one breast. She fondles the other one gently, pressing her rough paw pad against the sensitive pebbling skin. She draws lines here too, gently dragging her nails against your skin just to watch the blood rush into pink marks that bloom and fade in seconds.

You want to sigh and sink into the pillows, but her gaze is too adoring– and too alert. She’s awake now, though rest still crusts her eyes and the sun has barely lit the room. Her fur shines dawn pink as she shifts back up the bed, squeezing your chest and rolling her massive form all long your body. Fur everywhere is soft as sin, rubbed over your stomach and between your thighs like a promise as Rebekah presses into you. She kisses up your chest, tugging at one nipple before dragging her lips up the line of your neck.

She stops that way, her body intertwined with yours, a hand cupping your face. Her thumb strokes over your cheek, and under her gaze you feel overwhelmingly safe. She’s home for you; you know this, and you feel her return the sentiment in the way she maps the curve of your ribcage with her hands, follows it to your fleshy waist and soft human hips. You laugh when she squeezes your butt– and sigh when she cups your entire cheek in one large paw and pulls you against her.


	4. Lunar eclipse with Caleb

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With the upcoming eclipse, I would just like to suggest the concept of perma-wolf style werewolves that experience full humanity for the very first time during a lunar eclipse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Caleb is another of my OCs-- Rebekah's brother, actually.

“Okay, look, I’m super freaked out but, like, excited?” Caleb bounces in his seat, claws digging into the foam padding. His seat belt strains against his furry chest.

“Hands off the upholstery if you’re gonna go all puppy-eyed on me,” you snap, swatting his hands away. “I just got this thing cleaned.”

“But listen. I haven’t been human since I was like three? I think my mom has a picture somewhere you can look at.” He rubs his paws together excitedly, managing only to fluff his wrists and shed on your car interior. “I think I was a redhead. Is that weird? Does that change? Do humans change hair color? I used to have a blonde patch of fur on my ass.”

“It’s just an eclipse, Caleb. It’ll last a couple hours. We’ll have a weird midnight breakfast, I’ll watch you hold a fork like you’ve never used utensils before, and then we can go home and go to bed.”

Caleb totally ignores you.

“Did you bring a blanket? Mom says sometimes humans get cold because they don’t have fur. Rebekah’s girlfriend bought her this little lace dress thing to wear because she won’t have claws to accidentally rip it with, but mom told her to bring a sweater too just in case.”

“It’s  _SUMMER_.”

For the first time, humanity seems like a daunting thing to be in possession of. Dinner should be interesting, at least.


	5. Werewolf GF: a rough day

**Anonymous asked: They say that animals can sense emotion and it must be true// because you've had the Worst Day and you come home to your lovely, wonderful wolf who cradles your face in her paws and presses a kiss to your forehead. No words are necessary as she nuzzles against you and you breathe in eachothers scent. When the dam breaks and tears start to flow she pulls you to a nest of blankets on the couch and curls around you like the worlds biggest stuffed animal...**

> …her body is warm and you eventually seek the comfort of her touch// of fur to skin and your wonderful, beautiful wolf reminds you that bad days don’t have to lead to bad nights.

* * *

 

When your days are long, your girlfriend is a godsend. She’s busy with her own life, but the two of you are practically trained for each other. When she’s run down, you two have your routine, but when you have a day like this…

Her paws are kind, the pads soft as they sweep the beginnings of tears off your cheeks. She knows you don’t like to talk when you’re like this, knows that you’d rather just be quiet for awhile and let the soft wash of the television soothe you while you let it out. She curls around you protectively, rests her chin over your shoulder and breathes with you. When the shaky tears give way to outright sobbing, she tightens around you, swaddling you tightly in blankets and the firm wrap of her arms. 

“Breathe with me,” she says firmly. It’s not a suggestion, not at a time like this. She places one large paw on your sternum and pulls one of your comparatively smaller hands to her own so you can feel her chest rise and fall. “Four seconds in,” she coaches, eyes serious as you gulp air. “Four seconds out.” It comes out in another gasp, but the second try is steadier, a little longer. 

She massages her fingers over your collarbones, rubs in a bit of the scent off her cheeks onto your shoulder, soothing you. When you finally manage to take in a deeper breath, she smells like your laundry detergent and freshly cut grass, as if she’d been outside mowing before you came home. 

“Try again,” she says, squeezing you one last time and then picking up the remote to turn down the volume on the tv. You wipe tears off your face and close your eyes, try to focus. “For me.”


	6. Werewolf GF: summer coat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> lepetitselkie asked: Imagine your werewolf gf being cranky in the summer because she's shedding her thick winter coat but then you start to brush her and massage her and she melts under your touch. And as you brush you notice that it's getting your gf worked up in other ways// she's panting softly and arching up as you get closer to her nipples and lets out the softest whine as you work your brush and nimble fingers down her belly....

**[lepetitselkie](https://lepetitselkie.tumblr.com/) asked: Imagine your werewolf gf being cranky in the summer because she's shedding her thick winter coat but then you start to brush her and massage her and she melts under your touch. And as you brush you notice that it's getting your gf worked up in other ways// she's panting softly and arching up as you get closer to her nipples and lets out the softest whine as you work your brush and nimble fingers down her belly....**

–

Full moon grooming is the worst. It takes ages, and it always leaves you with cramped hands. Your girlfriend isn’t very fond of it either. Between you and Rebekah, you go through about three combs a month. You don’t have a lot of hair– at least, not compared to her– and her fur is thick enough to snap inferior combs. 

After this last one, you sighed and decided to just comb through the tangles with your fingers. It’s less efficient, but it gets the job done. You’ll have to vacuum after, though. Rebekah warned you about the coat blowing before you moved in together, but you didn’t really believe it until last month. Your grandmother’s afghan will never look the same again.

“Right there,” she rumbles. The moon has just come up, the sky still slightly light with the long summer days, and Rebekah still has just enough of her shape about her to speak. Soon she’ll be full snout, and then only growls and obstinate eye contact will get through.

“Here?” you ask, digging into a tangle at the clutch of her throat. The soft tuft over her chest fluffs when you pull away, loose fur in hand. She groans at the scratch of your fingers over her itchy skin.

“A little higher, babe,” she murmurs. She sounds like her teeth are coming in. Might be time to grab one last kiss before the moon shapes her for the night. Still running your fingers through her mane, you lean in, pressing soft kisses along her cheekbones. You kiss up the side of her face, nuzzling into the soft fur on her cheeks. 

You press against her lips with the same surety you press against her every night. She opens her mouth, peeks her tongue out, and you can just feel the press of sharp canines on your lip when she drags them against you. You humm contentedly, scratching at her skull with blunt nails. At your hip, the beginnings of claws poke through the flannel of your pajama bottoms. 

“We better hurry up,” you tease. “Your mom’ll be wondering where we are soon.”

“The pack can wait,” she laughs, nosing at your neck. You feel her whuff heavily against you, sucking in the smell of a long day of travel. “She knows what we’re doing up here.”

Your face twists; you’re unsure whether to make a joke or be embarrassed that her mom absolutely knows you can’t keep your hands off her daughter. 

“C’mon,” you whine. “At least wait until we get home tomorrow night. Jeeze, at least  _my_ mom can’t smell when I’ve had you for breakfast.”

“Better comb me faster, then, or I’ll eat you up.” She winks and snaps at you playfully for good measure, then moans with satisfaction when you dig your hands into her thick belly fur. 

For long minutes, there’s just the sound of your fingers through her fur, of her rumbling quietly in the gentle light of the sunset coming through the guest room window. You massage into her undercoat, digging over her chest as her fur sprouts with the stars. You’re just about halfway down the path of her stomach when she makes a noise. You pause.

“You okay?” You ask quietly. Your keep your hands still. Rebekah wiggles under you, restlessly shifting her hands here and there. She grasps your wrist.

When you look away from your task, you see that the set of her eyes is soft. There’s hunger there, warm and carnal. You flex your fingers in her coat and watch as her pupils dilate. Her mouth opens ever so slightly, her breath catching on a whine. Distantly, you think you can hear the other wolves congregating outside, howling as the sun finally goes down and the moon takes its domain.

You slip through the fur until you find what you’re looking for: soft little mounds, breasts transformed under fur. You squeeze, then shift around them. You dig your nails in just to watch her squirm. Her claws dig into the soft flesh of your arm when you pinch at one nipple, laughing quietly.

“We’ll be late,” you murmur.

But when you look down the flexing path of Rebekah’s abdomen, you can see her nipples stiff under your fingers, pink and perked to attention from your care. She’s already discarded her clothes in favor of her moon skin, and the naked line of her furry hips gives you another beautiful view.

She shifts, then rolls over, still holding your wrist. When she drags you down and down, onto the bed and between her legs, you know that her pack will have to wait just a little bit longer.


	7. Werewolf GF: rolling in the fields

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked: Along the lines of not enough ppl talking about were nips, not many ppl talk about weregirls that are just as big and just as hairy as the boys! A big hairy weregirl with a nice dusky clit hidden in a thick thatch of dark hair. A big hairy weregirl that pins down and ruts against others to establish her dominance....

You go out for a nice walk with Rebekah in the evening just as the moon is coming up. It makes her playful, makes her want to run and jump the way society doesn’t let her when she’s in her sun skin. As a wolf, she’s free. She chases you, pushes at you with her snout and claws, maybe knocks you down into the tall grass and heather at the side of the road. You tussle for a little bit, snorting with laughter. 

Then the laughter turns quieter, maybe a little muffled. Moans mix in as the tall grass sways around you in the gentle moonlight. A bird takes flight when you shriek– she’s pressed her nose into the dip of your stomach, right over the line of your jeans. She nuzzles into the heat of your crotch, smelling you and how ripe you are under it all– the stink from running and chasing and  _living_ all day turns her on endlessly and she delights in taking you apart thread by thread. 

She gets you down to your own moon skin in the tall fields, the two of you rolling over the haphazard pile of your clothes. Her chest is broader like this, her mass intimidating. Her jaw parts in a canine smile, her too-many teeth glinting in the moonlight. But her tongue– her tongue is gentle, seeking out the soft flesh of your breast and suckling gently on a nipple. Your reach over her in kind, carding your fingers through her fur and finding puffy, tense nubs waiting for you under the hair. You pinch them, delight in the feedback her pleased rumble makes against your tit. When you squeeze and press at her chest, she nips playfully at your stomach and pushes you down into the grass.

You roll your hips. She’s broad all over, coarse hair contrasting with her strident use of conditioner when she’s in her human skin. When she parts your legs, you can see her glistening faintly between her legs: under all the hair is a thick, dusky red clit, sticking out like she’s ready to mount you right in this field. This is one of the things you love most about her transformations: where she can wield attachments with ease as a human, her certain  _growths_ as a wolf are perfection incarnate. 

You ease her forward, shuffle under her legs until she’s straddling your face. She towers above you, snout raised high to the heavens as if begging every star for its blessing. When you finally get your mouth on the thick, sour heat of her, the lowest, softest howl shimmies out from her lips into the evening darkness.


	8. werewolf BF: transformation mid-coitus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked: Werewolf transformation mid-coitus, after penetration.

It starts out okay. Like, sure, the full moon is tonight, but it’s only 3 in the afternoon?? He can handle this. It’s totally cool. Except the longer it goes on the harder it gets. Just when he starts panting and you’re about to ask if he needs a break, he starts going  _harder,_ deeper, growling and grinding against you. You’re on the verge of coming when you feel the shift: he looms over your back, hairy chest rough against your skin and claws pricking at your hips. His cock grows thicker, too, the tip pointed and the base swelling. 

It takes everything in you not to freeze and maybe try to turn around and look at him– at least to check on him. But  _damn_ , he sure sounds like he’s having a good time. Feels like it, too. There’s drool on your shoulder where he’s got his jaw clenched tight to keep himself from biting at you, but his fingers dig in bruisingly hard against your hipbones. 

He fucks you through the surprise of the transformation, fucks you until you’re squirming and coming and writhing from overstimulation. He snuffles at the base of your neck, your armpit, the sweat trail dripping down your spine– licks it back up and then nibbles at your shoulder delicately while he whines and grinds his swelling knot into your hole. When he finally comes it’s with a desperate little noise that’s  _almost_ cute; except it’s accompanied by a goddamn  _flood_ of cum. He plugs you up with a shove of his knot and holds you on him. You can feel him twitching inside you, the hot waves of cum sloshing when he holds you more tightly, lifts you up to settle you in his lap. 

It’s happened before. Sometimes things get a little hairy in the heat of the moment. This time, though, he stays huge and rough and sharp. You lean back against him and try to gather your breath again while he rides out a long orgasm plastered against your back. It’s hard to think like this, when you can basically feel your heartbeat in every muscle from how turned on you are. You reach down to feel where you’re joined and clench a little just at the thought of him locked inside you for the next little while.

So, yeah, the moon  _technically_ isn’t set to rise for another couple hours. Doesn’t mean the transformation can’t be triggered by excitement of other kinds. 


	9. Werewolf BF: growing a knot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A trans werewolf is overjoyed to discover he's started growing a knot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More Caleb. He's trans and a werewolf (and also Jewish, and Rebekah's brother) and I'm Love Him.

Patience has never been Caleb’s strong suit. He’s always been quick to change– even hours before the moon comes up– and he’s the first to give into his wolf instincts and run wild. It might be nice if it weren’t the doggier aspects; instead he loves things like rolling in dirt and rotten leaves and eating things he shouldn’t. And then he comes home expecting a kiss. (Sometimes you kiss him. Mostly not.)

This…you’re not exactly sure what to attribute it to. Pure excitement, probably, and pride, and maybe a touch of his usual tactile personality. See, Caleb’s been on T for almost a year to the day when he breaks into your apartment with barely a care for closing the door.

“You gotta see this,” he says breathlessly. 

“What? Caleb, I’m trying to make d–”

“No, you gotta  _see_.” He starts yanking his pants down right there in the kitchen.

“That’s  _it_. You  _know_ the rule: no hairy asses in the kitchen. Bedroom if you wanna do this, you weirdo.” You shove him away from the kitchen. He hops after you, pants already off one leg, cactus-print boxers low on his hips. He’s going half-wolf in his excitement.

You turn to him when you’re finally in your room and cross your arms.

“Okay, what’s the news?”

“ _Look_ ,” he says excitedly. He pulls his boxers down until they stretch around his thighs. He cups his groin, pushing back his outer mound a little bit so you can get a better look at him. Usual chubby dick, way bigger than it used be, and growing more now that he’s transforming a little in his excitement. Lots of hair/fur in general. All very nice, but nothing out of the usual.

“It’s your dick. Congratulations. What am I looking for, Caleb?”

Caleb groans and paws at his face in exasperation. “Okay, so it’s kind of–” He breaks into giggles. “–hard to see right now, but I was out at the store and I had to piss, right? So I’m sitting there, just kinda, like, feeling around, as you do, and I noticed– I found– dude,  _I have a knot_.” He spits the fact out in a rush, raising his fists in triumph as he says it. It would be endearing if he didn’t have his pants and underwear trailing behind him as he did it.

“Holy shit.” You grab his wrists and hop up and down together. His pants fall away entirely. “You have a knot! You have a knot, hot damn.” You pull him close and press kisses to his cheeks, his muzzle, and ruffle his fur. “You know what this means, right?”

“Hell  _yeah_ ,” he barks, and immediately surges to pick you up. He hoists you onto the bed and immediately jumps after you, tackling you into the sheets. You both strip as quick as possible. 

Neither of you was sure this would happen. There’s little to no information on how hormone therapy affects weres, and even less info on to what extent the effects go. Caleb’s wolf form had certainly changed, and his human form is  _still_ changing, but neither of you had known just when or if this particular joy would show itself.

You laugh and tug him closer against your body, roll around until you’re straddling his hips. You can feel the jut of his cock between your legs, trying valiantly to poke against you and maybe slip somewhere warm and wet. You grind against him until he whines pitifully– but still laughing under it all, body language the very definition of happiness.

You slide down and worship him as you go. Muscle and fur, chest and abs and even a tweak of his tail. He’s almost full wolfman now, changed over in his excitement. (You suppose the full moon being close doesn’t help.)

You stop when his legs are angled as open as they’ll go in front of you, his groin displayed like a feast.

“Okay, show me what I’m working with, here,” you say, hand sliding over his thighs and hips distractedly. You slip two fingers between his lips and pet at him gently, just feeling around. His dick twitches and swells a little more as you do, and you can’t help it– you lean in and press a kiss to the side of it, tongue flicking out against him.

“Oh,  _fuck_ ,” he growls, deep and animal. “Okay, lay off, just gimme a– gimme a second.” He breathes deeply to calm himself and you back off, but you stay close. He reaches down and spreads himself for you to look at. With one finger he lifts his hardening dick and strokes the underside, shuddering as he does it. “Now look.”

You move in closer. Sure enough, nestled there at the base, just under his hood, is a little bump of flesh wider than the rest of him. It looks tender, and you carefully reach out to–

“Don’t touch it yet,” he moans. “I think I’d come, like,  _immediately_ if you did.”

“That’s not so bad,” you say with a grin. “Just means I get to eat you out until you’re ready to go again.”

“Don’t even start,” he whines. He shifts his hips a little, and you dive in eagerly this time. Hormones have made Caleb spectacularly horny the last few months, and your favorite thing about T combined with moon phases is that sometimes he gets so wound up he just ruts against you– sometimes even in his sleep. You know he could probably go again in just a few minutes if you finished him off now.

But that’s not what he wants, is it? So you lay one long, tongue-twisting lick against the whole of him before backing off and turning over on all fours.

“Wher?” He slurs, panting hard. He sits up. You look over your shoulder at him and spread your legs a little wider, angling yourself invitingly.

“Well? Try it out.” You grin, wiggling a little, and laugh when he slaps one hairy palm against your ass. 

He presses wet, sloppy kisses against your cheeks and slides his tongue between them, making a slick place for himself while you moan and push against him. By the time he actually gears up behind you and starts grinding, you’re both a mess. Your heartbeat is in your throat and you couldn’t be more elated. You’ve managed a few things, and this is bound to be an exciting addition.

He ruts against you mindlessly, whining and crooning at you as his swollen dick slides between your cheeks enticingly. At some point he lifts your hips higher, spreading your cheeks so he can get closer, and the tip of him kisses your hole.

“Oh, fuck yeah,” you groan, pushing back against him. “Caleb, you better–”

“I’m gonna, I’m  _gonna_ ,” he pants, He slips a hand between you, stroking himself in quick little jerks, before guiding himself to your pucker. He slips in with just a touch of resistance, teeth grinding. He move incrementally, jerkily, pushing into your heat with a long growling groan. When you clench down on him he whines so hard he sounds wounded. You can’t bring yourself to laugh though, because turning back to look at him provdes the best picture.

His head is turned up to the ceiling, mouth open, gasping for air. His hands grip your hips hard enough for his claws to poke indents in your skin, and you can feel him shaking against you. He moves once, experimentally, and then again, harder this time. Before you know it he’s slapping his hips against yours, trying desperately to get inside you and barely making it. He humps you like his life depends on it, and you just take it, more than happy to touch yourself to make up for his distraction.

When he finally comes it’s with a weak little howl, his hips stuttering.You can feel him pulsing against you, and when he moves to pull away–

“Woah,” you say, stunned. You feel a little pull, a tiny bit of resistance, and then he’s out. You flip around as fast as you can and look at him, sprawled open and spent on your sheets. His hole still flutters and twitches when you pet him gently, but of more interest to you is the slick line of his cock. “You really– it really did it. Goddamn.”

You stare at him and gently run one finger along the line of his knot; he shudders and twitches under you, hole clenching visibly one more time as you stimulate him just this side of too much. The little bulb of flesh looks swollen, almost painful, and is flushed a deep dark red-purple with blood. It juts obscenely, and if it hadn’t just been inside you you would absolutely be sucking Caleb off again, regardless of whether that would get you a shove off.

“Goddamn, indeed,” he says, a smug grin on his face. He shifts on the sheets a little more as if  _posing,_ the ham.

You flop down beside him and draw his hand between your legs. He eagerly gets to work. But as he does, something occurs to you.

“So,” you say casually, as if he’s not fingering you right this minute. “Does this go in the pack newsletter?”


	10. Satyr/Minotaur, lactation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bradley (big goof of a minotaur) takes care of Raymond's (trans satyr) special affliction.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These are two of my OCs that are rarely mentioned-- Raymond, a trans male satyr, is usually super pushy and bossy, but he gets shy. Bradley often gets mistaken for a "big lumbering ox" but he's a sweetheart.

“Aw, Ray, c’mon,” Bradley coaxed. He hefted the satyr into his lap, still facing away. “It’s not weird. I like it.”

“It– beh-h–  _is_ weird, and it’s even weirder that you  _like_ it,” Raymond spat back. “I need  _milking._ That’s not normal.”

Bradley nuzzled Raymond’s neck, nosing at the fine dark hair there. They had to avoid clashing horns, but Bradley was able to lick a long stripe over the junction of the satyr’s neck.

“You  _are_ a goat,” Bradley pointed out reasonably. 

“A  _male_ goat– not a goat even, you goof. A satyr,” Ray grumbled. He might have protested, but he leaned back into the wall of Bradley’s torso. The minotaur was almost as broad as Ray was tall, and the notion sent a shiver up his spine. Unlucky for him, the shiver made his chest hurt, only reminding him of his situation.

“Goat-man, then. It’s still not weird. Let me help.” Bradley slipped his hands up from Ray’s chest then as if to punctuate, cupping Ray’s chest like it was a precious thing. Each of his hands was large enough to dwarf Ray’s chest entirely,so that it seemed like Bradley was going to completely pick up Ray altogether.

“F–” Ray huffed. “ _Fine_ , then. At least– bleh-eh– at least let me turn around. You’re making me bleat; I’m too fucking nervous.”

“Don’t be,” Bradley huffed happily, easily picking up the satyr and turning him around on his lap. He placed one hand on Ray’s back, steadying him, before leaning in for a kiss. “It’s cute.  _You’re_ cute.”

Ray rolled his eyes, but he kissed Bradley back. It was gentle enough, but not what he needed. His guts squirmed with need and Ray felt his little tuft of a tail wiggle behind him as Bradley caressed his shoulders with one broad hand and pulled him closer. 

“Ge-hehh-heh-et on with it, will you?” Ray bleated, blushing a furious red. He thrust his chest out at the minotaur, starkly aware of how tiny he was on his boyfriend’s lap. To his credit Bradley only laughed a little, softening the blow to Ray’s pride by licking a long stripe through the thick fur on the satyr’s chest. At that Ray moaned, finally getting the stimulation he needed. 

“Doing alright?” Bradley murmured into the satyr’s chest.

“Goo-ooh-ood,” Ray bleated, chest heaving. “Are you going to milk me or not?”

In lieu of an answer Bradley moved his huge bull’s head down and closed his silky lips over one nipple, soaking the fur there with spit but eliciting a howl from Raymond. 

It took several pulls and some coaxing, but at last Ray sighed, moaning high and long when the pressure in his chest started to ease. He sucked in deep breaths as Bradley worked first one nipple, then the other, making a milky mess of the satyr’s fur. The minotaur switched between them with ease, laughing occasionally at the happy little bleats Ray let out whenever he got a particularly good pull of milk.

“Tastes good,” Bradley murmured, deep and low. He practically mumbled it into the soaked fur, only pausing for a second before sinking back into his task. 

Ray let him go for several long minutes before gently shoving his boyfriend back. 

“That’s enough,” Ray said clearly, face still red. He pet Bradley’s broad face, caressing the long ears and circling around to hold him close. 

“You sure?” Bradley asked, licking his lips. “I could keep going.”

“Don’t embarra–ahh-ehh–ess me,” Ray bleated, ducking his face into Bradley’s shoulder. “You know that makes me bleat.”

“I like it,” Bradley said, grinning goofily. “Best snack I’ve had in ages.”


	11. The Void Is Tender

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A tender creature loves you tenderly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I looooove writing featureless masses of tentacles. ( ◞･౪･)

The ceature is surprisingly gentle, all things considered. It’s gentle in the way that sleep is, warm and thick as it creeps up on you. You know you came here of your own accord, but as the creature’s hold circles around you you can’t seem to remember how. You know you initiated contact with the being that now seeps into every wrinkle of your brain, but you don’t remember why.

But the creature is gentle, and you feel affection for it deep in your bones, and it relaxes you. You feel tendrils, ghostly and silky soft, caress you. They glide of massaging fingers over your legs, climbing like vines up your calves and thighs, circling your hips into a comfortable harness, supporting your back and lifting you off the ground. Before you know it you are flirting in the dark, supported by a hundred loving arms. They stroke you and slide warm and soft against your skin– when did you disrobe?– and gently, so tenderly, come up to cradle your face. As they engulf you you close your eyes against the dark and give in.

Pleasure seeps into your muscles like heat after an intense workout. You go limp in the embrace of the creature. Your body tingles, and the urge to stretch like a satisfied cat overcomes you, so you do it. The tendrils wrapped around you wiggle as if pleased when you do, and one slips between your legs as you slump lazily.

It strokes you lovingly as more tendrils pet your temples, and suddenly the pleasure intensifies. It’s electric now, a buzzing current running through your veins, and it makes you sweat. The tendrils around your chest and back flick their tips against you as if licking up the salt; you shudder and spread your legs a little more, suddenly eager. The sluggish, lazy heat is still there, but there’s a thread of something else.

The tendrils do something new as you slowly move in their embrace: they begin to suck at you with little kissing pops, the tips of them like tiny mouths. The pucker along your thighs and slide deliciously between your legs, kissing at your neck and chest. One latches onto a nipple and you gasp as it sucks harder than the others. You feel it begin to drain you– not milk, not blood, but energy in its purest form, dripping out of you from a million tiny exit points, each sip punctuated by a kiss.

Your climax sneaks up on you– you shudder, a tiny writhing exhale from your chest, and go limp once more. You feel warm, sated, cared for. The mass of tendrils slowly lowers you back into the soft floor and retreats, and as you slip into sleep, you wish it a good goodbye, for it was sweet, and it was gentle, all things considered.


	12. Dragon CYOA parts 1-10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This was posted on tumblr as the Monster Lovin' CYOA.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Howdy! I started a kind of experimental project with a monster-themed choose-your-own-adventure story on Tumblr. These are the first 10 parts, each of which was voted on by followers over on the blog. I'll upload the next several in a minute. If you'd like to stay up-to-date on this story you can follow me at hhgggx.tumblr.com.

You are human. You have often lamented this fact over the years, especially when there’s such a huge variety of life out on the earth nowadays. Of all the creatures under life’s guidance, you just  _had_ to be the most boring, useless animal on the planet. When you were little you thought this meant you wished you could have been born a lion or something. When the portals opened and let monsterspawn walk into the mortal realm a few years ago– well, that opened a whole other can of worms for you.

It’s not like it would be so different, not really. There are ways you could join their ranks– spells, potions, even a few nasty diseases– but you’ve always been, at your heart, a bit of a coward. You like watching from afar. As more and more monsters made themselves known in the last decade or so you’ve grown to admire their kind. You love watching documentaries about mer society, made by mers. There are demons on TV now that clearly get off on the attention, and you love those, too. Even the craigslist ads for were packs looking for new members have always held a morbid fascination for you.

But alas, you are only human. That doesn’t mean you’re  _boring_. You have many hobbies. You like hiking, and reading, and even a bit of cooking every now and then when the mood strikes you. Heck, you have a number of great (mostly) human friends that love you very much.

There’s just…something missing. Sometimes when you sleep you have dreams that make you wake feeling like you left something behind. Like maybe you’re in the wrong body, or in the wrong place. You need something, but you can’t quite figure out what. 

In fact, you’ve woken from one of those dreams now. You stretch your arms high above your head and yawn, cracking your joints satisfyingly. You fight the temptation to crawl back under the covers and instead peek at your clock.

Oh no! Is it that time already?

  * Day
  * Night



>Night

No! There goes the rest of your day. It seems that what you’d  _intended_ to be a brief nap turned into an actual full-on rest, and now you’re wide awake with the whole night ahead of you. 

Well, this isn’t the  _worst_ thing that could have happened to you. Melancholy dreams aside, you feel pretty good. Energized. And a little hungry– understandable, since you skipped lunch in favor of sleep.

You move through your house with ease, not even bothering to turn on lights as you go. The sun is just starting to set, letting saturated orange and crimson light seep through the front windows. It bathes your kitchen in waning warmth. You spend a solid minute staring out at your backyard in the dying light: your home borders a vast swathe of woods, not too far from the border of a national park. If you really wanted (and you have in the past) you could probably go for a walk to get some of this energy out. 

You contemplate your plans for the evening as you make yourself a meal. It’s only cereal, but hey– it’s the weekend and you live alone. It’s not like you have anyone to impress. 

Just as you get the first bite of your dinner in your mouth, your phone starts to ring. You sigh, though it’s a fond one. No doubt it’s your friends calling. They probably want to go out and do something wild. That could be fun– there are some pretty cool hangouts that welcome monsters not too far away, and you could be up for a night of people-watching. But then again…you glance at your cereal. Staying home would be a good way to relax too. You’ve been so busy lately…

Do you:

  * Go for a walk (demon, werewolf)
  * Stay home (dragon, demon)
  * Go out with your friends (werewolf, dragon)



>Go out with your friends. (werewolf, dragon)

You drop your spoon with a sigh and answer the phone. As soon as you do you are met with a cacophony of sound. Your friend is somewhere busy, and about to get busier. They finally get somewhere quiet– their car, by all accounts, ready to come get you– but the mood is set. Tonight is going to be  _wild,_ and they want you in on the fun. 

As they talk about the cool party scene the night’s got set out through your wide web of acquaintances, they throw a couple offers at you. You  _are_ notoriously hard to lure away from your peace and quiet, after all. They want to make sure you have fun tonight…and your love of all things slightly unnatural is a common joke among your friends. 

There’s the frat pack, your friend starts. The local werewolf pack is holding a moonlit barbecue and bonfire at their house– sure to have some good brews and more than enough fur to ogle, they say with a laugh. Plus there’s been rumors of some pack politics it might behoove you to be in on– a visiting pack making an in on the territory, or so the rumor goes. 

When you make a noncommittal noise, they continue. A glitzy club just opened up not too far away from where you live. They cater to the fanged and furred of the world, but they do let humans in occasionally. You  _could_ try your luck–  the place has already gained a reputation as a good time, but there are hints of something indecent about the place. Good music, though. 

Hmm…you chat idly with your friend as you contemplate your options. The night is still young– plenty of time to make bad decisions. As you peek out your curtains, you can see that the moon has barely started to rise, and you  _are_ wide awake now that you’re rested and fed. 

What do you want to do?

  * Hang with the weres
  * Get your dance on



>Go to the club

You may have been reluctant to go out at first, but you have to admit that the glitz and glamour of the club scene is pretty inviting once you get close. The building itself seems to emanate some kind of chaotic energy: the music is so loud you can practically feel it in your feet as you walk up, half-imagining you can see the very walls shake. You excitedly show your ID to the orc on security detail before being waved in, your friend following in your wake.

This is, as promised, a true monster hot spot. You see demons and weres and everything in-between. More than one person here glimmers with a bit of magic around the edges, either hiding or enhancing something on their person. The dance floor is packed, as is the bar– to be expected, as it  _is_ a weekend night.

But, oh, damn! Your friend may have invited you out, but they’ve already disappeared into the crowd. You could probably follow them into the throngs of partygoers, but you might be risking your life– more literally this time than at a regular club. In fact, as you walk past a crowd you are nearly gouged by someone’s horns, which curl so extensively that the owner should probably have warned you. 

You  _do_ make it out onto the floor eventually though. You’re not usually one for loud places like this, but you have to lick your lips a little in anticipation of being so close to so much fur and fang. You  _like_ being surrounded by creatures taller, broader, stronger than you, each and every one of them there for a good time. A group of fae glitter and stroke across your shoulders and ass as they grind on you, until you pass through their cluster and into the side of a rather beefy minotaur who seems preoccupied with his partner, a black-furred wolf whose eyes flash in the strobe lights.

It’s no mosh pit, but the crowd jostles you, and you are thrown from group to group in a gleeful mash of heat and muscle until at last you make it to the back of the room. You huff and puff, trying to catch your breath, and wipe the sweat off your face. There are some seats around the edges of the club– little booths and benches, some private and some open. They look pretty crowded, but there’s an open seat on a bench next to some friendly-looking…somethings. They shimmer with ridged scales and body glitter, adorned in gold and kohl. One of them winks at you before turning to their companions with a grin, eyeing you as they murmur to their friends.

(You’re not quite sure  _what_ to classify them as. Dragons– if that is what that person is– tend to have a very convoluted interpretation of what humans use for gender markers. Human spectrum seems to mean very little to them.)

On the other hand, you  _are_ pretty thirsty. The bar is busy, but you’re sure you can squeeze in. The bartender looks supremely competent and… admittedly attractive. With a wicked crown of horns and blood red scales, the bartender stands out– probably good for business, you think to yourself. They could probably pose for an ad all by themself. They look like they’re instructing the other bartender on duty in some task or other as people clamor for their attention. Yeah, definitely slammed.

What do you want to do?

  * Make some friends
  * Get a drink



>Get a drink

You push past the bustling crowd and make your way to the bar. It’s packed here too, but you manage to find a seat between a towering orc woman and some kind of earth elemental. Both of the bartenders are  _slammed._ People are clamoring for their attention, and you being dwarfed by the two next to you isn’t helping. You wave and call, but the feline woman tending bar closest to you doesn’t seem to see you.

At long last, throat dry and desperate even for a glass of water, you stand on your chair and wave both arms. 

The red dragon immediately rushes over to you. They look like they want to pick you up and set you back on the floor, but they settle for scowling and crossing their arms. They point at the floor sternly.

“Feet on the floor!” they shout over the music. “Chair dancing is for professionals only, and you don’t look like our usual hires.”

“Sorry,” you say, flushing. You climb down gingerly, leaning on the (now frowning) elemental to do it. “I didn’t mean to– to, uh…” But you have to stop. Now that you’re on solid ground again you realize that the dragon is…well,  _stacked_ is the simplest term. Great arm muscles bulge at the sleeves of their black t-shirt, through which you can see the ridges of various spiky scales up along their shoulders and spine. The flashing blacklights bring out an iridescent sheen to some of their scales, and their eyes flash reflectively, like a cat’s. They sneer a little at your stuttering, and you witness a mouthful of very sharp, very pretty white teeth beyond their scaly lips. 

“Just don’t do it again,” they say. “Now, did you want something, or are you gonna free up your seat for actual paying patrons?”

What do you want to do?

  * Sit your ass down and buy a drink
  * Go for broke and hit on them



>Buy a drink

You do sheepishly order a drink, settling into your stool between the orc and the elemental. Despite your faux pas the bartender is kind enough to make you a dark and stormy that’s damn good and spicy enough to distract you from you embarrassment..

You suddenly realize you’re actually kind of tired of dancing, and the bar offers a great view of the various monsters and humans in the place. You ogle weres of all breeds and admire wings in several different shapes while the musics blasts. Before you know if you have a second drink in hand, and then a third. The people around you seem to be matching you; as the night drags on they get more and more lewd. A goatman with a long, prehensile tongue curls and twists it in your direction, winking his weird horizontal pupils at you until you flush and turn away. A woman with bat wings and literal fire in her eyes drags a hand down her body as she makes eye contact with you. It seems you are a novelty here.

You don’t know if you have the courage to do anything about it, so you down another drink. Was that the third? The fourth? You don’t know. You feel warm and giddy, and hell– the bartender is handing you another glass. The crowd has slowed significantly, and the other bartender is now more than capable of handling the line. 

“This isn’t what I ordered,” you say, frowning.

“It’s water,” they say gruffly, pushing it toward you with one claw-tipped finger. “You’ll thank me in the morning.”

“Hmph,” you grumble– but take it, turning back to the bar to sip slowly. They were right; you immediately feel a little more clear-headed after a few sips. “Thanks,” you mumble. 

The dragon nods quietly, not stopping their tasks all the while. They clean glasses and cut limes while you drink your water, and when you’re done, you apologize. 

“I’m sorry for making a scene earlier,” you say with an awkward smile. “Everyone here is just so tall!”

“It’s fine,” the dragon assures you in that deep rumble of theirs. Now that they aren’t so busy they actually seem pretty personable. The even smile a little, revealing sharp white teeth behind those red-scaled lips. “I’ve been here long enough that I’ve seen much worse than one–  _heh_ – cute little human trying to get my attention.”

You blush and play with your straw. “Yeah? How long have you worked here?”

“Since before it opened,” the dragon says. 

“Before?” You ask, surprised. “How does that work?”

“I own the place,” they say, and they let loose the first genuine laugh you’ve heard from them all night.

Before you know if you’re talking like actual companions. The night goes on and on and suddenly it’s nearing closing. People start leaving in droves. The music shuts off; the lights rise slightly so the DJ can pack his equipment. You keep sitting at the bar chatting with the dragon.You’re definitely more than tipsy, and it’s hard not to eye them appreciatively. Those  _muscles,_ and the teeth, and the horns– you must say something about them, because they laugh and come around the bar to stand next to you. They sit down and nod at the other bartender as she closes out the register.

“You know, we’ve talked this whole night and I just realized I don’t know your name,” you say. You stick out your hand to shake, and they take their hand in their own. Their hand is huge and surprisingly smooth, though textured, and they hold yours just long enough to make you go red. Or is that just the drinks?

“Ziva,” they say. “And I’ll be pleased to meet you as long as you don’t stand on any more of my chairs. Come back soon, yeah?”

Oh no! Is this them kicking you out? You don’t want this to end so soon.

–

What do you want to do?

  * Say something crazy (proposition them right now)
  * Say something reasonable (ask for contact info)



>Say something reasonable

“Wait!” you exclaim. You can feel the clock counting down. Your friend is no doubt waiting somewhere outside the bar for you to show up, and when the clock strikes midnight (so to speak) you have a feeling this fantasy will dissolve. “Can I…get your number?” You flush a little– not entirely from drink– and sip on your water.

Ziva smiles; it’s a wide, toothy thing, sly and knowing. They lean into your space and glance around the bar. It’s truly empty now, the last customers shepherded out of the main building.

“Come back to my office and I’ll give you my card,” they purr, claws dragging down your arm.

They lead you, stumbling and clumsy, down a short hallway lit by wan fluorescent lights. Band posters and stickers adorn the halls, but when Ziva opens a door on your left, you are ushered into a clean, organized space. Filing cabinets and a desk line one wall, with boxes of posters and miscellaneous musical equipment piled in another corner.

They shut the door behind the two of you; you are suddenly aware of the surrealism of the situation. It’s late, probably into early now, and you are several drinks in and teetering in the office of a proper adult. You feel like an impostor– but something about Ziva spurs you on. You swallow your pride and straighten your spine and wait while the dragon shifts through piles on their desk.

“Here we go,” Ziva says after a few silent minutes spent searching through their disorganized work space. They lean over and cross out the number, writing another underneath. “That’s my cell; text me whenever.  _If_ you survive that hangover,” they say with a wink.

“I’m sure the water will help,” you assure them. Then you take a chance: you lean in and grip their much larger wrist, picking it up to place a kiss on the soft inside. You look up at Ziva from under heavy lashes and hope you get your intent across. “I had a good time tonight,” you say quietly. “I hope I get to see you again.”

For the first time, they look startled. If they could blush, you are certain they would be doing so right now. Ziva sucks in a subtle breath and leans towards you before growling just so slightly and nipping at your ear, huffing heavily and resting a hand on your hip.

“You will,” they murmur. Then they laugh: “Call me in the morning. Try and prove this isn’t just my  _excellent service_ influencing you.”

You laugh with them, and together you shake a little bit. Before you pull away, Ziva does the unexpected: they press their mouth to yours and lay one slow, relaxed kiss on your lips.

Do you:

  * Go weak in the knees (push for more)
  * Have some self-control (try to wait until tomorrow)



>Have some self-control

You smile into the kiss, overcome with butterflies in your stomach for the briefest of moments. It starts out fairly chaste, and sweet besides. You decide that you like the smooth, leathery texture of Ziva’s scaly lips, and their hand on your hip pricking you with the tips of its claws, and basically the whole situation in general. You gasp when the dragon nips at your lips and grips you a little tighter, letting out a pleased huff when you make a tiny noise of pleasure.

You even start to lean into Ziva a little more– but then you wobble and are forcefully made aware of the fact that sincere interest or not, you  _have_ had several drinks tonight. Perhaps this is not the best idea. You reluctantly pull away from your dragon suitor with a sigh, instead resting your head on their shoulder. Ziva is noticeably taller than you, and their smooth skin feels damn good on your drink-and-kiss-flushed face. 

Ziva laughs once more, a deep rumble you can feel in your chest, and pats your back. 

“You okay?” they ask, mirth in their voice. 

“Just…uh..tired,” you say, a little dazed. “Can we continue this another time? Maybe not at two in the morning?”

“Sure,” Ziva says with a smile. “I meant it when I said to text or call me. I’ll be waiting.”

They escort you to the door of the club. You spot your friend leaning against their car at the edge of the parking lot and are about to head over when Ziva snags your wrist and tugs you back. They lay one last, lingering kiss on your lips before patting your ass and ushering you out the door with a wave.

You grin all the way home, avoiding your friend’s questions as best you can. That was a damn good night.

–

The next day– the next  _afternoon,_ actually– you wake up bleary-eyed and a little hungover, but generally feeling like you have witnessed a goddamn blessing. You grin into your pillow and blindly slap around on your bedside table for your phone and the card tucked next to it. 

You open your messaging app and get ready to type. But…you hesitate. 

What do you want to do?

  * Ask when you can see them again
  * Send them a selfie



>Send them a selfie

You stretch languidly while you contemplate what to send Ziva. They were  _so_ nice last night, and you are amazingly grateful for the fact that they filled you with a ton of water before you left, because your hangover is minimal…though you  _did_ sleep in pretty late. Ah, well. That’s to be expected. 

You flounder when the text box blinks at you expectantly. “hey” seems weak, and “hello, love of my life, when can I see you again?” is too strong. “I had a good time last night” makes you wonder if that would pressure Ziva to say the same even though they just hung out with your drunk ass. What do you do?

You finally come to a conclusion: a picture’s worth a thousand words, right? Since you’re having so much trouble coming up with something to say, you might as well not say anything at all. 

You open up the camera app and arrange your greasy, product-matted hair around your sallow face and frown. Not good enough. Maybe a shower first?

While in the shower you contemplate the night.You think back to Ziva’s lips on yours, their bulk pressing against you in the dead silence of a club closed for the night. They were warm despite their reptilian heritage, as if the tales of inner flames were true. And damn– Ziva was a literal wall of muscle and at least half a foot taller than you; and if the rumors you’ve heard about dragons are true? They’ll be worth the climb for sure. 

Flustered by your memory reel, you step out of the shower and rearrange yourself into something presentable. You open the camera app again and, nodding to yourself for support, you snap a few sleepy-looking pics of you in your bed, sunlight spilling through the blinds to illuminate you. It’s clear from the angle that you haven’t gotten dressed yet, and you’re pretty proud of the shots. They’re intimate but not explicit. Hopefully Ziva will like them.

You send the pics to the number Ziva gave you last night along with a simple “Good morning!” and flop back down in bed. That’s enough work for one  ~~morning~~ afternoon, you think.

You’re just on the verge of taking another nap when your phone buzzes excitedly, snapping you out of a doze. It’s a mess of blush and lizard emojis. You grin– of  _course_ they’d be a cute texter. If something as simple as a sleepy morning selfie can get them riled up, maybe you should send something a little more…risque? 

What do you want to do?

  * Tease Ziva and send another picture
  * Wait for Ziva to use their words like an adult 



>Send another picture

Ziva’s flustered use of emojis is cute, but it’s not exactly what you want. You want pics, and you want them  _now_. It’s time to get serious. 

If the first shot was innocent, the next one is anything but. You slip your hand down your body, working yourself up and scratching red lines into your skin with your own nails. You imagine that it’s Ziva’s hands on your body, Ziva’s claws dragging down your thighs, and groan into your pillow. You are a master of the sext. You can do this. You grab several great angles from your phone– our legs spread, your mouth open, a hand cupping your groin– and sift through them a little out of breath. It takes you a good minute to pick the best ones, but you send them off with a quick tap and flop back into your sheets. 

It takes literally 60 seconds for Ziva to respond. And the message? Well…You smirk.  _This_ is more like it.

Ziva has sent you a shot of what is clearly them at work, in their office from the looks of it. You recognize the desk in the background. It’s a long body shot. Ziva has unbuttoned their pants and slid their shirt up, and before you lays the most delicious expanse of skin you’ve ever seen. Their red scales are lighter on their belly, almost creamy white, and they look smooth as polished stone. 

But it’s not their skin care that’s got you intrigued; no, it’s the little divots of their illiac furrows and compact muscles, clearly tensed just for you. (To be honest, the thought of the funny dragon from last night flexing to get a good angle is pretty endearing.) Ziva’s long, clawed fingers rest on their hip, thumb carefully exposing the cutest little opening you’ve ever seen. 

You lick your lips and zoom in on the pic. It’s blurry, but in the shadow of their slacks you see the very tip of something peeking out of their glistening slit. You don’t know  _nearly_ as much about dragon physiology as you want to. But you’ve heard stories, and  _boy_ were they good ones. Right now you can just see the pointed curve of something flushed and dark and hard poking out, but it makes your lips twitch. You want it in your mouth  _yesterday_.

Before you can stop yourself you’ve clicked the phone icon next to Ziva’s number and started a call. When they pick up, they sound a little growlier than they did last night. And  _definitely_ out of breath.

“You got my picture?” Ziva groans into your ear.

“Hell  _yeah_ , I did. You look–” You gulp. “Nice. Really nice.”

Ziva chuckles. You can vaguely hear something wet in the background. “Is that all? I expected more of a response than  _nice.”_

What do you do?

  * Tell them what you really think
  * Ask about dragon biology




	13. Naomi & Rue (werewolf/selkie wedding, f/f) FLUFF AHOY

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Naomi and Rue get married, and it's a wonderful blend of Jewish American Werewolf traditions and Irish Selkie traditions. They are very much in love. Pics by lepetitselkie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a BLAST to write. plus lepetitselkie-- who commissioned this in the first place!-- drew some pictures to accompany it. I feel SO blessed right now.
> 
> Naomi and Rue's first dance was to Like Real People Do by Hozier. Link in text below.

[Like Real People Do by Hozier](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VCAN_BK0TGY) (great listening to accompany this piece)

* * *

 

Leah grinned with satisfaction as she looked out at the back yard. It was done up in the highest order, more dressed up than on any other family occasion she could ever remember. Every pack member had turned out to help-- some of the neighbors, too-- just to make sure that Naomi and Rue’s wedding would be perfect. Their dad had organized the catering, Rachel had rearranged the yard furniture with Caleb, Rebekah had sewn the dresses, and the rest of the family had picked flowers and made party favors and fussed over the brides as much as humanly possible. 

Leah, though the youngest in the pack, had been assigned Assistant to the Alpha. All this really meant was that she followed her mom around and made sure that Rue’s family was comfortable. They were staying out in the back of the property, in the little cabins and tents they kept at the lake’s edge for the deep summer weekends. There weren’t a lot of amenities out there, but Leah had been surprised: for all of Rue’s embarrassed insistence that her family could be a little stuck-up, they seemed perfectly happy just to sun themselves on the soft river-sand banks while the venue was being set up.

The selkies had arrived a week before the wedding, showing up very dramatically on a foggy evening with heavy trunks held in their arms and their fur coats dragging on the ground behind them. There had been no visible transport, the seal-people appearing to have simply walked out of the mist and up to the front gate. 

Mama Jacobson had taken it all in stride, of course. She’d been Alpha long enough that not much fazed her, and if it did, she hid it well. She had simply called all her children down to help carry luggage into the accommodations and then invited the new in-laws over for dinner.

Leah had to laugh; watching Irish selkies try to keep up with American Jewish werewolf shabbat dinner was a hoot. A big, confusing riot of old languages and an argument about cabbage’s place on the table, along with plenty of wine and beer, and suddenly it was as if there had never been any discrepancies. The selkies left their coats in the spare bedroom, bread was broken, and suddenly the house was full to bursting with company and love.

There were the usual jokes, of course. Plenty of people ribbed Rue about how much fur she and Naomi would have to vacuum in their new house. Rue was a short girl, round around the middle with arms good for hugging, and she made a beautiful picture at Naomi’s lanky side. Naomi was tall for a wolf, with their dad’s height and mom’s curls, and when transformed her auburn fur matched the hue of Rue’s umber skin.

The week leading up to the wedding was one long bout of fussing and laughter. The brides, as a last bastion of tradition, had been separated all week. Despite living together for over a year, Rue and Naomi were now given messengers in the form of younger cousins to ferry messages back and forth. Sometimes it was cute: letters, flowers, a bagel from the breakfast table. Sometimes it was more frustrating: asking where Rue had placed Naomi’s hair brush, or arguing via messenger about who would lift whose veil first.

But they spent the week in their respective families’ territories, swaddled in love and smothered with attention, missing each other all the while. 

Their contrasts were made especially gorgeous now, Leah thought. Mid-morning on a Saturday, and the yard was full. The selkies had traded their coats in for more formal wear, suits and dresses and lace and wraps and headwear all around to out-class every other guest. This was, Leah supposed, to be expected from foreign semi-royalty. But the Jacobson pack wasn’t to be outdone-- they had all groomed their fur impeccably and worn their best clothes, teeth and nails polished to a high shine. 

The sun shone in a rising arc in the sky, dissipating any remaining fall fog as the morning wore on. By the time the ceremony was over and they could move on to the reception, the day would be hot enough that they would be grateful they had the lake on the property to jump into. August weddings were no joke: humid mornings, hot afternoons, mosquito-swarmed evenings. But today they would all be brave for the sake of love.

Leah sat in her chair at the front of the yard eagerly, camera in hand. There was a professional photographer around here somewhere-- probably taking pictures of the brides right before they walked out. Each woman was in a separate tent to either side. Leah could see the shadows of her alpha mother arranging and pinning and smoothing Naomi on one side. On the other the tent rustled with the whispers and song of a queen selkie sending her daughter off to land.

Someone’s cousin played a dulcimer while the crowd fell silent. In the middle, at the head of the yard, the chuppa waited. Chuppas were meant to be a representation of the future couple’s home, and the two women have built theirs with meaning. The canopy was woven with flowers and branches from the greenery around the house, along with driftwood to keep it solid; seashells and river rocks and incorporated throughout it, with strands of colored glass and chimes dangling down to sing in the light summer breeze that blew through the venue. It looked like art. It looked like everything the two women had ever shared.

When at last the procession started, the two tents on either side of the venue were opened, and the two brides emerged, glowing with happiness and nerves. Naomi walked from the right, heels almost catching on the runway: her hair was pinned and curled, flowers throughout it. Her dress flowed with lace and tiny winking bits of glass. Her mother and father held her on either side, arms linked. From the left, Rue walked regally down her carpet, wrapped in her sealskin with strands of pearls and seaglass woven around her hands and neck. Her mother accompanied her with a hand on the small of her back to guide her.

The crowd audibly gasped in collective joy as the brides emerged. The buzz of attention seemed palpable in its silence as the two women walked to the dais, settled under the canopy of the chuppah, and turned to face each other.

A nervous smile here, a twitch of tooth there: they found the humor in the situation. Being separated all week had truly made this moment special, reminding them just how much they missed and loved each other. Seeing each other like this-- dressed in splendor, seen for the first time in a week-- reinforced what a good decision this was.

They’d decided on a Rabbi between the two of them, though the wedding itself was a blend of traditions. There would be a ketubah made up later-- a beautiful artwork showing their vows and commitment-- to be hung up above their bed in their home. They had decided to work in celtic knots and images of seals into the border, to truly blend their cultures into one. It was unconventional, to say the least. But it was them. It was so perfectly them.

But now-- now the Rabbi stepped up, opened his book, and began the ceremony. Leah could see from her vantage point in the front row that Naomi had tears in her eyes from the get-go. Her hands looked like they itched to hold her partner’s, but she was holding back on behalf of showmanship. 

Before she knew it, Leah was standing with the rest of the crowd while the two women kissed as a married couple for the first time-- and then a riotous cacophony of whooping, cheering, howling, and barking erupted, so loud that the glass crushed underfoot was like a drop in a bucket. Cries of “mazel tov!” and “congratulations!” echoed through the yard, into the woods, and out into the sky as the couple marched down the aisle toward the wooded area the reception was being held. 

The family had opted to host the reception along the lake, near the campgrounds the selkie clan were staying on. Leah had helped, of course, but the bulk of the work had been done by her dad and some cousins, who all helped cook, carry food out, and decorate. There were tables and chairs, a bare dirt dance floor, and so many instruments set out that it seemed nearly everybody on hand would have something to play. Leah remembered-- so many people had volunteered to play during and after the ceremony that it had seemed like Naomi and Rue would have a soundtrack to their entire existence as a married couple.

But first...they had to have their first dance. The two stepped around the bare earth dancefloor with ease as their song of choice played, ending with a tender kiss as the last phrases-- _we should just kiss like real people do_ \-- played on.

There was cake, and dinner, of course. And so much dancing that it looked like the night would never end, with group after group coming up to play a jig or lift the couple up. Dancing and dinner went on long after the sun had gone down and the lamps were lit. After all, the wolves ran under the moon all the time. 

And when the selkies donned their skins and slipped into the lake, the party went wild. Wolves stripped off their formal wear and changed into fur, diving with gusto into the freezing lake. Even Leah joined them.

In the end, only Naomi and Rue were left on shore in their dresses, heels kicked off into the mud, sharing the last slice of cake and holding hands. It was everything they could have asked for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can get early access to posts like this by following my blog at hhgggx.tumblr.com.


End file.
